She walked over and hugged her aunt. “You and Amelia are truly my salvation.”
Her aunt sighed. “What are you about, dear?”
C.C. pulled her mother’s letter from her skirt pocket and held it out.
Mrs. Arnold gave her a concerned appraisal before carefully unfolding the tattered paper. As she read, she bit her lower lip. “Oh, poor Delia.” She searched C.C.’s face. “Tell me you aren’t planning what I think you are.”
C.C. clasped her hands in front of her. “I have no other choice.”
“No other choice? I dare say—” pain flitted across her aunt’s features “—this is why you left Grancliffe Hall with Captain Tollier? He has agreed to help?”
“Yes. He’s not happy about it, but yes.”
“Surely there must be some other way. The danger is enormous.”
“I’m all my mother and cousins have, and I’m able to help. Mama would not be in such a position if it weren’t for me.”
Her aunt pursed her lips. “That is ridiculous. You know my feelings about her. Although she never refused helping someone if it were within her power.”
“Am I not my mother’s daughter?”
Her aunt’s features puckered as she sank onto the settee next to Plutarch and tucked her skirts around her plump little body. “Please don’t do this, I beg of you.”
C.C. blinked hard while she searched for words to keep the hot tears from surfacing. “This may be my last chance to see Mama…and make amends. You know how much I love you and Amelia and our family here. You have done so much for me, and I am truly grateful. But I need to see Mama. It is long past the time when we should have reconciled.”
“Can’t you wait until hostilities have died down a bit?”
“This may be my last chance.” Her voice cracked. “I must talk to Mama. I need…her forgiveness.”
“You might lose your own life trying to get to her. Never mind what it will do, I dare say, probably already has done, to your reputation. I shouldn’t speak ill of family, but Captain Tollier has a shadowy past. He’s been gone over a dozen years. Other than his service in the Royal Navy, we know paltry little about what he’s done since. I tell you, that charming rascal’s secretiveness and want of stability does not bode well for any woman of quality.”
C.C.’s eyes started to burn. “My reputation?” She gulped and laughed. “That ship sank long ago. And as for Captain Tollier, I have it on good authority he’s had more experience navigating those waters than anyone. We’ve still some things to sort out, but I think I can manage him.”
Her aunt shook her head, her expression clearly saying, “Don’t fool yourself, girl.” Reaching under her collar, she pulled a gold chain over her head. The medal gleamed in her palm and her eyes began to glisten with moisture.
“I want you to have this.” Her aunt rose and placed the pendant in C.C.’s hand. “My father, your grandfather, gave this to me on my wedding day. He wore this medallion at Waterloo and claimed it the reason he survived the battle without a scratch.”
C.C. gazed at the medal. The face of a ferocious dragon hovered above a knight’s helmet and arms. “Oh, Auntie, I can’t accept something so precious.”
“I think you will need its protection, and more. Wear it always. If circumstances become dire, hold it. Feel the warmth of it in your hand. Know that a whole line of Collinses stand behind you and love you.”
***
Tension filled C.C.’s carriage the next day. As the coach swayed around another turn, the ringing of horseshoes and rumbling of wheels against cobblestones cut through the strained atmosphere. Captain Tollier sat in stony silence, his fine features pulled into a recalcitrant glower. Though he appeared to be lounging against the squabs, C.C. noted his rigid shoulders. His lips thinned further as he shot an annoyed glance toward her and then flicked a dog hair off the knee of his suit.
Since yesterday’s meeting with her man of business, the captain seemed determined to keep her apprised of his dislike for her. She decided it a blessing. With war raging on land, running the blockade remained the quickest, safest route to North Carolina. It would not be easy dealing with such an unpredictable and stubborn man. Still, she stood by her decision: Captain Tollier remained the most qualified, experienced captain available.
Clearly, measures needed to be taken to keep him from throwing her off balance. They’d only met a week ago, but from the first there’d been too much attraction between them. Romantic involvement would add nothing but complications.
Schooling her expression to placid self-possession, she decided henceforth she would insist they follow strict rules of propriety. This was a business arrangement, nothing more. By the looks of him now, though, she doubted such a speech would be necessary.
The carriage pulled to a stop near a team of stevedores. Sounds of the busy wharf intruded. Her driver pulled open the door and let down the stairs. “Mind the steps, Captain.”
Beau unfolded, ducked through the door, skipped down the stairs and positioned his top hat on his head. Turning, he held out his gloved hand to help her down the steps.
She forced a smile. “I thought I’d see you off here.”
“Come. Walk with me a bit,” he growled. “I’ve some last-minute details we must discuss.”
Hours of silence had passed. Now, at the last minute, he suddenly discovered his tongue? She pursed her lips in irritation.
He motioned again with his hand, beckoning her to follow.
Huffing, she drew her shawl tighter, snatched up her umbrella, and held it out the door to unfurl it against the chilly drizzle. Then she gingerly squeezed her purple skirts out the narrow carriage door and took his hand to descend.
Once on solid ground he curled her gloved hand around his arm and walked her around the chaos of the loading ship. Smells of wet wood, cinnamon, cloves and the Thames mixed together in the misty air. A few passengers stood in line at the base of the gangplank. Winches screeched as the stevedores swung nets of trunks and cargo up to the deck.
Captain Tollier led her down the street in silence.
The late October drizzle grew heavier, chilling her face and seeping through her soft leather shoes. As they continued to walk, his lack of conversation began to annoy. “What is on your mind, Captain?”
His only response was a bunching of arm muscles under her hand.
Awareness shot through her fingertips tingling all the way up to her hairline. She shivered and couldn’t help an attack of loquacity. “I hope your voyage to the Azores is speedy and successful. As soon as I’ve collected the rest of the items on your list and mine, I’ll leave for the Bahamas. As discussed before, I’ll be at the Royal Victoria Hotel. Are you familiar with that establishment?”
“Intimately.”
“Of course. Then please send word as soon as you arrive in Nassau. The cargo I’m bringing will need to be loaded so that we can quickly get underway. Some of it may be slightly perishable. Also, if you are delayed—”
“You certainly have a lot of instructions.” He grasped her upper arm and herded her across the busy street. Once there, he swung her around and backed her into a small, dim alcove at the side of one of the buildings.
When she looked up, her skin prickled.
His features sharpened, intensified as he removed his gloves and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. His eyes deepened almost to green. “Are you aware that ladies seeing men off on dangerous journeys usually give them a small token of their regard?”
She bit her lip. “And what might that be?”
“Why, a kiss good-bye.”
“I should say the six thousand I paid you should be quite enough to cover any small token of my regard.” She fiddled with her umbrella. “A rich good-bye by anyone’s standards.”
“Ah, but you can’t put a price on some things. Recent events have given me a renewed appreciation for life and liberty.” He stepped closer. “Money isn’t everything you promised.”
Before she could step awa
y, he pulled her to him. “I seem to recall your original missive spoke of rewards and benefits. The rewards so far have been adequate, but you’ve been a little stingy with the benefits.” He captured her mouth.
Her umbrella clattered to the bricks as she wrested her lips from his. “That is quite enough for a good-bye.”
“Not hardly.” He raised both hands to gently cup her face. The intimacy of the gesture and the warmth of his palms against her chilled skin sent her pulse skittering. He slowly feathered a kiss over her lips.
The sweetness of his invitation so surprised her she nearly swooned. His scent of citrus and incense unlocked a door in her mind. Unbidden, memories of what almost happened in his bed at Grancliffe Hall tumbled out in every riveting detail.
He slid his hands across her shoulders and down to her waist, deepening the kiss with a gentle but skillful movement of his mouth over hers.
She refused to respond. This was beyond the outside of sensible. She must insist on propriety. The next few weeks, possibly months, would need all her reason. She did not want to spend one more minute trying to forget another one of his kisses. Pulling back she said, “I insist—”
“Yes?” He cut off her words by angling his mouth over hers. Gently running the tip of his tongue along the crease of her lips, he slipped through.
She could taste his minty tooth powder and cloves. An internal rebellion stirred as he stroked, and teased, and tempted her with an irresistible combination of sin and bliss.
Her heart began hammering in her chest. Her tongue dodged and darted. Oh-God, Oh-God, Oh-God. She could not give in to this rascal. She must make him stop. She must not let him turn her into mush again.
With his next silky thrust, he lingered, toying with her, weakening her resistance. Against her will, a sigh whispered up her throat. Her tongue finally twined with his.
He answered with a soft groan. His strokes became more urgent, curling with her tongue in a rich, sensuous slide.
Tingling warmth began to flow through her, heating, thawing, exciting hidden, secret places. Her lips began to move against his, returning his drugging kisses with ones of her own.
He tightened his arms about her.
Images of them together, doing more than kissing, began to fill her mind.
Suddenly, he released her and stepped back. “That’ll do for now.”
She tottered, disoriented and gasping. Even in her daze she’d not expected to see stern Captain Tollier, trembling. Yet there he stood, chest heaving, staring at her as if he’d made an unwelcomed discovery and couldn’t decide what to do about it.
A moment passed. He blinked. The furrow deepened between his brows.
In one quick step he grasped her about the waist, lifted her off her feet and fit her snugly against him. His mouth came down hard over hers, overwhelming her in a swift, possessive foray.
Something vital and wild broke free. She grasped his lapels to pull him closer. It wasn’t enough. She curled her hands around his neck, accidentally knocking his hat to the ground. Still not enough. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, clung to him, crushed her breasts into his chest, and returned his kisses with a fervency she never would have dreamed she possessed.
He stumbled and lost his balance, causing them to fall back against the brick wall. Grasping her tighter, he dropped a hand to clutch her petticoat-laden derriere.
Time stilled. Her whole being focused on the sinews of his rigid torso now pressed into hers, the taste of his potent, silky caresses, and the places where his wicked hands roamed.
The soft rumble in his chest turned to a moan.
Breaking their kiss, he set her down, gripped her shoulders and lay his forehead against hers, gasping, “My God, we must stop, or there’ll be nothing left for hello.”
He lurched back several steps, picked up his hat and smacked it on his knee. Taking several deep breaths, his dark gaze combed over her face one last time before he fit his hat to his head and exhaled. “Right. I’m off then.”
All she could do was watch him dash back across the busy street. In his haste, he barely missed being run over by two teams of horses.
C.C. fingered her bruised lips and tried to calm her galloping pulse. Her knees wobbled so uncontrollably she doubted she could move safely from the alcove. In the distance, she saw the captain approach a man at the bottom of the gangplank. They exchanged papers and counted the trunks and boxes her driver had unloaded. When the man held out a clipboard, Captain Tollier pulled a sparkling fountain pen from his pocket and signed.
As he marched up the gangplank, he didn’t look back even once before disappearing into the ship. This didn’t bother her as much as the glint off the pen he’d pulled from his pocket. It looked like her jeweled purple ink fountain pen.
She remembered handing it to him to sign their contract. It had been her father’s, one of his last gifts before he died. So that’s where it went, the thief.
Fuming, C.C. shakily retrieved her umbrella. She now noticed the two garishly clad women standing in a nearby doorway. Wharf doxies. Down the street stood several more. Here she stood among them, her clothes and hair in disarray from the captain’s liberties. Clearly he’d planned this. And she had paid him six thousand in gold.
As she tramped unescorted back across the street to her carriage, she wanted to rap him over the head with her umbrella. The man was an incorrigible beast. This was clearly another one of his demonstrations. She might be able to tempt him into doing her bidding, but he would remind her of a woman’s precarious position. As a man in a man’s world, he intended to hold the upper hand and would use any means necessary to keep her in her place.
Climbing back into her carriage, she refused to leave until she saw the ship sail down the Thames with Captain Tollier on it. Finally instructing her driver to take them home, she nearly missed the distinctive coach and driver sitting in a nearby alley—Lord Falgate’s.
Chapter 10
Nassau, the Bahamas, November 1864
Sunshine flashed silver atop ripples dancing across the harbor’s turquoise water. A balmy trade wind toyed with Beau’s slouch hat as he stood on the Redemption’s main deck surveying the approaching port. Underfoot, the ship’s powerful engines vibrated quietly through the deck’s metal plating.
How many times had he dreamed of sailing into Nassau on such a ship—a speed demon designed to outmaneuver anything afloat? Memories began to rise up all around him.
In 1861 his life took a dramatic turn. After the Union Navy belligerently boarded the Royal Mail Ship, the Trent, most of the Royal Navy and a good portion of English citizens became incensed. The incident nearly started war between the UK and the United States.
Beau and a number of his shipmates hoped to return the favor by joining Southern commerce raiders. After that, he took command of a small blockade-runner and came to Nassau for fortune and adventure.
Life back then had been magical, golden. Only good luck came his way. There’d been exhilarating, intense chases, glorious games of fox and dash. He’d outsmarted, outsailed and escaped a host of determined adversaries. Romance and danger came with grand payoffs and celebrations in his honor. Millie had balanced that precarious life with warmth and security and unconditional love. His heart squeezed painfully as he remembered the sound of her warm, rich laughter. Their darling Freddie had inherited her quirky grin.
He couldn’t face those memories. Until now, he’d locked them into a tight compartment at the back of his mind.
Commander Rives and the Roundabout put an end to that halcyon life.
Squinting against the bright sunlight, Beau let his eyes drift across the wharf. Mountains of cotton and merchandise overflowed the busy docks, where Bahamian stevedores kept up a stream of musical banter. Buildings and warehouses had sprung up on the city’s slow uphill rise. In the distance he could see the tall palms and giant silk trees.
A warm salt breeze caressed his skin. Once he’d basked in the velvety island air. Now he dreaded its tr
anquil welcome. Sooner or later he would catch the fragrance of frangipani, the flower Millie liked to wear in her hair.
For nearly a year he’d shunned anything that would remind him of his guilt. Now if he smelled that flowery essence it might send him to his knees. He compressed his lips, feeling the muscles in his jaw tighten. After this one last run he’d never return to this island paradise.
***
The late November sun had long since set by the time Beau walked into the Royal Victoria Hotel. Practically brand new, it remained the best hotel in Nassau. Pale pink coralline limestone lined the exterior of the ninety-bedroom, four-story hotel. To some it looked like a side-wheel steamship with three ten-foot-wide promenade decks and extensive views of the harbor. It was elegant, grand and expensive.
C.C. had asked him to contact her as soon as he arrived. He couldn’t say why he’d dragged his heels, only that too many emotions clambered for attention. Tomorrow would be soon enough. Tonight he wanted a few last hours to himself.
While signing in at the front desk, he saw the familiar sight of a huge party spilling into the elegant lobby. After seeing to his luggage, he elbowed his way through the gathering and gazed about the popular blockade-runner saloon.
The room still had the same inviting décor, same low lighting and same scent of citrus, cigars and alcohol. Raucous laughter and loud conversations nearly drowned out a small band at the side of the room. Patrons packed around the highly polished counter. When a customer left, Beau managed to grab his stool. “A bottle of your best rum and a glass,” he shouted over the noise.
The large man behind the bar wheeled around and gave him a huge gap-toothed smile. “Captain Beau! Is it really you?” Striding over, the bartender grabbed his hand and gave it a hearty shake.
“In the flesh, Felix, in the flesh.” Beau nodded toward the crowded room. “Is this the victory celebration for the Lacy Jean?”
“Aye, man, made it back with a thousand bales of cotton, cleared a quarter million. And they is spreadin’ the wealth, God bless ’em.” He set a bottle of rum and a short glass in front of Beau. “You had a spot of bad luck, my friend?”
The Trouble With Misbehaving Page 9